


Movie Night

by liesmyth



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Banter, Blow Jobs, Cockwarming, Eddie's crush on Ben Affleck, Humor, M/M, Movie Night, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23861419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/pseuds/liesmyth
Summary: “You’re bored with the film,” Richie asked. “So you’re gonna play with my dick?”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 37
Kudos: 484
Collections: What Fen Do (Instead of Going Outside)





	Movie Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darlingargents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/gifts).



The first time it happens, it’s Richie’s turn to pick the movie. Because it’s Richie, the movie turns out to be pretentious arthouse drivel– a French romantic comedy with subtitles with a palette so desaturated that it takes Eddie five whole minutes to realise that it wasn’t actually shot in black and white.

“Really?” Eddie asks, after ten minutes of agony. Richie shushes him.

“You’re just reading the subtitles,” he points out, and Richie actually turns and glares.

 _Fine_. Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and tries to settle comfortably on the couch, watching the inexplicable drama unfold on screen. There’s a farmhouse and three young socialites, and a naive handsome farmhand who’s gonna get spectacularly laid by the end of the movie.

It’s all very idyllic, and unbelievably dull. Eddie rolls his eyes and suffers quietly for the first hour of the movie until a five-minute montage of bare-footed frolicking in fields with soft music in the background destroys what’s left of this patience.

“Oh, come on.”

Richie’s hand pats over his knees distractedly, barely paying him attention. Eddie scoffs.

“You can’t like this for real.”

“Just because you have plebeian tastes– "

“Rich,” Eddie says seriously. “I’m gonna punch you in the dick.”

Richie’s eyes flicker over to Eddie just long enough to smirk at him with his whole face, serene and insufferable. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t. You’d miss it too much.”

Then he goes back to watching the television.

Eddie hisses softly to himself and shifts on the couch, restless, trying to focus on the haunted eyes of the lead actress, the intensely melodramatic background music. Nothing.

He looks at Richie. Richie isn’t looking back, probably on purpose, the asshole. Eddie glares intensely at Richie’s profile, his stupid jaw, the way the fabric of his shirt hitches up at the sides. His sweatpants hang low over his hips, stretching over his thighs, the outline of his dick.

When Eddie puts his hand there, Richie jumps.

“What are you doing?”

What Eddie is doing is shoving Richie’s pants down his hips so he can take Richie’s dick out. He watches Richie’s throat move as he swallows, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Seriously, Eds, what are you– "

“I’m bored.”

The tone shuts him right up. He watches Richie blink owlishly behind his glasses, throwing his hand over the armrest of the couch.

“You’re bored because you don’t like it,” Richie says slowly, perfectly still against Eddie’s touch on his cock. It’s not like he’s doing anything, yet– he’s just holding it, fingers wrapped loosely around the shaft, thumbing at the head just to see what Richie’s gonna do next.

Another long swallow. Then, “You’re bored with the film, so you’re gonna play with my dick?”

Just the fact that Richie calls it ‘film’ is driving him, Eddie, insane. Fucking pretentious fucking asshole, he thinks, feeling hot and flushed all over. Fucking Richie with his big dumb stupid glasses and his big stupid dick– and then he’s diving down across the couch, half-splayed on Richie’s lap as he gets his mouth around Richie’s cock.

Richie hisses. Eddie’s fingers dig into the old thin cloth of Richie’s sweatpants and his forehead knocks against Richie’s hip, still mouthing at Richie’s dick so that he’d pause the damn movie and pay him some fucking attention.

Richie doesn’t. Instead, his hand comes to rest over Eddie’s nape, and when he speaks his voice is low and flustered. “This is the most aggressively I’ve had my dick sucked. Like, ever.”

“Shut up,” Eddie spits out, and it comes out all muffled. Richie moans and arches up into it and the tip of his cock slides out from Eddie’s lips, brushing wetly against his cheek. Behind him, a woman’s voice is yelling in French.

“What the fuck.” Eddie cranes his neck to look up at Richie– from this angle he looks like a dumbass with a double chin, but still infuriating hot. “You gonna turn that off?”

Richie adjusts his glasses. “No.”

“What the hell, Richie.” He says it with his mouth half an inch from Richie’s cock. He can feel it harden against his cheek, filling up in his hand as he pumps it erratically, eyes trailed on Richie’s mouth. “Turn it off.”

“No.”

Then he turns his head away and goes back to watching the movie. Richie’s hand, still on Eddie’s neck, presses down slightly.

“Really?” He breathes it out against the spit-wet tip of Richie’s cock, half-hard and twitching. Richie doesn’t say a word, the smug asshole, keeps stroking Eddie’s hair– like he knows he’s gonna get away with watching his stupid movie and get his dick sucked while he’s at it.

 _Idiot_ , Eddie thinks fondly, turning his head to the side and licking around the head of Richie’s dick, aggressive little flickers of his tongue that get Richie’s thighs trembling. He sneaks his hand down to cup at Richie’s balls, rolling them between his fingers in time with the press of his tongue into the slit. Richie groans, thrusting up into it.

Eddie pulls back, resting his cheek against the bare skin at the top of Richie’s thighs, the fuzzy hair against his weekend stubble. “You’re insufferable,” he says to the swollen head of Richie’s cock, relishing the way Richie’s hand tightens in his hair as Eddie’s breath brushes against oversensitive skin. “You fucking– _ngh!_ ” He swallows angrily around Richie’s cock, making Richie’s hips jerk up into it. He loves the feeling of it swelling into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue.

With his head on Richie’s lap he feels drool pooling at the corners of his lips, the slightest strain on his neck as he nuzzles his cheek into Richie’s thigh. He grasps at Richie’s hip for leverage as he works him up with tongue and fingers, breathing through his nostrils. He can’t talk at all like this, with his chin wet with spit and his mouth full of cock, and that’s probably for the best. He swallows down Richie’s dick along with the urge to say something sappy and tender, to babble love declarations into Richie’s skin and sit back up and kiss his mouth– except if he did that it would all be over in two minutes, five tops.

Instead, he puts all his focus into sucking Richie’s dick, teasingly, enough to get him fully hard and not much else. He rolls his tongue along the shaft, and it’s messy as hell– there’s drool on his face and on Richie’s thighs and his pubes, wet slurping noises that make his face flame up and his dick grow hard in his pants. Eddie reaches down with the hand that’s not jerking Richie off to palm at his crotch over his clothes, just humping lazily into his own touch. There’s no rush.

The minutes pass. The stupid movie’s still going on, high-pitched French in the background that’s almost soothing when he’s hearing it like this, with his jaw stretched wide around Richie’s hard cock and the stubble on his chin scratching lightly over Richie’s skin. Mouth full, Eddie jerks off lazily, back arched and hips raised up high enough to wrap his hand around his dick. Maybe he should get to his knees.

Richie’s broad hand pats his cheek, and Eddie moans softly. Richie’s got a thing for this– he loves touching Eddie’s face when he’s sucking his cock, feel the heavy twitching shape of it through the warm flesh of Eddie’s cheek.

“Babe,” Richie says. Eddie hums around his cock and swallows sharply until his cheeks hollow, making Richie hiss, hips thrusting up into Eddie’s mouth. Then he closes his eyes, turning his head around to wipe off his wet chin on Richie’s thigh, and goes right back to jerking off.

Two minutes later, Richie shakes him again. “Babe. Eddie. Eds.”

Eddie’s gaze flicks upwards long enough to catch Richie staring hungrily.

“You gonna do anything about it?”

Eddie just hums again, pulling away from slobbering around Richie’s cock long enough to roll his eyes at him. “You gonna turn that off?”

Richie’s mouth twitches. “No.”

“No,” Eddie agrees, and goes back to holding Richie’s dick in his mouth and doing precious little else, just keeping it warm and hard and jacking it off a bit when he feels like Richie’s getting too complacent. It’s doing it for Eddie, that’s for sure– every time he swirls his tongue and Richie arches up into it, groaning, the sound of it goes straight to Eddie’s dick. His hand is wet with his own pre-come and his face is wet with spit, sweat soaking the back of his neck. He moans as he squeezes the shaft of his cock, hips jerking as he thrusts into the tight circle of his fingers. That sets Richie off– he thrusts up into Eddie’s mouth, brushing the back of his throat, and Eddie chokes a bit on instinct and arches up his neck so the angle’s better. Richie’s hand brushes up his neck, sinking into the short hair at the back of his head.

 _“Ed–die_ ,” he breaths out, running his other hand over Eddie’s face, caressing his cheek, tracing the edges of his stretched-open mouth. Eddie shifts on Richie’s lap so he can take him in deeper, pushing up with both hands on Richie’s thighs as leverage. Richie’s fingers on his face stroke at his lips, slipping past his mouth at the corner, stretching it open wider. There’s spit everywhere, and Eddie moans– he wishes he could touch his dick like that, release some of the pressure. He pushes with his forehead into Richie’s belly as he squirms on his stomach, balls swollen and heavy, hips thrusting as he humps his leaking cock over the couch pillows.

“Almost done,” Richie promises, breathing hard. “There’s like– _fuck_ , Eddie, there’s like three minutes left, alright? Then I’m gonna come down your throat.” That makes Eddie groan, gets Richie moaning right along with him. “And then I’m gonna jerk you off, sweetheart, holy shit. You look so hot like this.”

That sounds fucking fantastic, Eddie thinks. Just three minutes– they can resist three more minutes. He bobs his mouth up and down Richie’s cock, erratically, just to get Richie panting and cursing under Eddie’s touch. Sad romantic music swells in the background as Eddie manoeuvres awkwardly so he can get off the couch and down to his knees on the carpet without taking his mouth off Richie’s cock. It’s harder than he’d thought, even determined as he is, and when Richie laughs softly Eddie pinches his thigh until he jumps.

“Hey, guess what,” Richie says, scratching lightly over Eddie’s head. “End credits! Get on with it”.

“I hate you,” Eddie pulls off just to say. “Whose fault was it– you could’ve paused the stupid movie, you pretentious–”

“Love you too, a lot. Now can you get on with–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says, bowing his head down so he can suck off Richie for real. He sinks down inch by inch, closing his eyes as Richie moans and slumps down against the couch cushion. Eddie shifts on his knees, so turned on his skin is buzzing with it, Richie’s cock full and heavy in his mouth, hitting the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat. He’s so full he can barely breathe, but the noises Richie’s making are all worth it, the sharp grip of Richie’s hand on Eddie’s neck, the way the back of his fingers tremble as he strokes down Eddie’s jaw.

He pulls back just barely, eyes flickering up to catch the sight of Richie’s flushed face, his mouth wet and jaw slack, eyes half-lidded.

“That’s so good,” Richie’s saying, blabbing. “Keep doing that, I’m almost– I’m gonna–”

Eddie hums his approval deep in his throat, feels Richie’s body shudder with it, eyelashes fluttering under his glasses. He digs his nails into Richie’s thigh, wordlessly egging him on, swallowing around him until there’s no more left to take, jaw aching, his chin brushing the wet mess he’s made of Richie’s balls. He feels Richie’s muscles tremble under his hand as Richie’s fingers tense against his neck, holding him firmly in place as he comes with a groan. It’s dizzying– the noises Richie’s making, and the feeling of Richie’s come down his throat, so far down he can barely feel the taste. He coughs weakly, eyes stinging with tears, and when he looks up he sees Richie blinking off his stupor.

“What the fuck,” Richie croaks. “We could’ve done this, like, one hour ago.”

“Fuck off.” His voice sounds wrecked, and Richie looks in equal parts pleased and like he wishes he could come again just listening to Eddie like this.

Richie tugs Eddie up to climb over his lap and Eddie kisses his chin as he scoots up. He whines as his cock brushes against the fabric of Richie’s pants, still pooled around his thighs. Richie’s fingers pet Eddie’s strained neck, reverently, tracing the edges of Eddie’s lips. His face’s a wet mess when Richie kisses him deeply—and then kisses him some more on top of it, like he’s trying to stab him with his tongue. Eddie grimaces.

“Hey.” He pokes at Richie’s shoulder, trying to push him off. “Hey, move.”

Richie frowns down at him. “What?”

“Ease it up a bit. I feel like– my jaw’s about to fall off.”

Richie blinks stupidly for a second, then throws back his head and laughs, a warm deep sound that makes Eddie’s heart feel soft.

“Don’t be smug,” Eddie says, sounding like someone who’s had a dick down his throat for the better part of one hour. Richie grins at him, smugly.

“I mean, whose fault is that? I told you, hey, babe, you should just blow me right now, and you were all ‘Not if you don’t stop the movie’.” He says it in a frightening accurate impression of Eddie’s currently raspy voice, and Eddie wants to bite his lip off.

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Sounds like you bit off more than you could chew.” Richie winks at him. “Something bigger–”

“Shut the fuck up and get me off.” Eddie thrusts his cock against Richie’s stomach, probably smearing pre-come all over Richie’s stupidly snug shirt. “I love you. You fucking moron.”

It keeps happening. It doesn’t become a _thing_ , exactly, but…

Okay, maybe it’s a thing.

Maybe it started ages ago, when they were kids, spending all day glued at the hip by a pathetic crush and sticky unspecified adolescent fluids and doing absolutely everything together. They used to go to the movies a lot, because there wasn’t much else to do in Derry, and Eddie always protested when he had to sit next to Richie but glared daggers at anyone else who tried it, and Richie always got the large popcorns and Eddie got two large sodas for the two of them. Once a week they rented a cassette from the video store and watched it in the basement of Richie’s house, snacking on candies and letting their knees brush under Mrs. Tozier’s handsewn blanket, getting way too close any time something scary happened on screen.

Back then, the options had been pretty slim, and they both made do with what they had. Richie liked Bruce Campbell and Michael J. Fox and Eddie, a late bloomer, liked explosion and jump scares and cool special effects, so they both got something out of it.

Eddie’s tastes haven’t changed that much since. He still likes explosions and speed chases, even when the plot behind them doesn’t really make sense, although now he’s able to look back on many childhood favourites and appreciate the male leads a lot more than he used to.

Richie, on the other hand, is a fucking film snob.

Maybe it’s the screenwriting minor he did in college. Maybe it’s because he lived in Los Angeles for years. Whatever the reason, at some point down the road Richie developed an appreciation for the weirdest shit in cinema’s history, and he’s very insistent in telling Eddie everything about how it was made and why it’s all good or brilliant or subversive when Eddie just thinks it’s kinda boring.

Richie likes horror movies—really, Eddie likes horror movies too, they grew up on those, but he likes the normal kind of horror and Richie likes stuff he can’t watch without subtitles he can wildly theorise about when he’s drunk. He likes old movies, and he likes foreign movies, and he likes stuff made on a shoestring budget and shopped around at half the film festivals of the world. Eddie understands nothing about any of it, but he thinks Richie’s hot when he gets really into it, and between the boredom movies with subtitles induce in him and the memory of Richie’s cute little frown when he starts talking about camera angles and chiaroscuro lighting, it’s not a wonder that any time they’re watching one of Richie’s picks he just wants to blow him.

At one point, Richie gets into some German tv show Eddie has never heard of—he buys the DVDs off Amazon UK and waits excitedly for them to arrive, and then he watches every single episode upwards of three times. Eddie could probably go do something else with his time, but he’s at home and he’s got nothing better to do, and soon enough he stars to develop a Pavlovian response to the German language. His mouth waters, he gives Richie a Look, and soon enough he’s on the couch swallowing around Richie’s dick like a champ.

Well. At least he’s not bored.

When it’s Eddie’s turn to pick the movie, Richie gets obnoxious. His opinions on Eddie’s tastes are loud and varied, and there’s no way to stop him from voicing all of them. He thinks they made too many _Fast and Furious_ , and he won’t stop whining about plot holes in Marvel movies. Richie eve says, to Eddie’s face, that _Armageddon_ is a shit movie and look, even _Eddie_ knows that, but he watched that in theatres by himself back in college and got very uncomfortably turned on by Ben Affleck so— that movie means something to him, alright? There’s an emotional connection there and Richie should just stop shitting all over it, geez.

“Wait, so, you wanna fuck Ben Affleck? Please tell me you don’t wanna fuck Ben Affleck.”

Eddie clutches the remote to his chest, protectively. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Wait, Eds, work with me here. Are we talking you twunk Ben Affleck or Batman Ben Affleck, because—”

“Oh my god.” Eddie’s not one to stop his feet but, in this moment, he’s spiritually tap-dancing from frustration. “Will you shut up about Ben Affleck—”

“Wait, wait.” Richie’s eyes go wide. “Is that why you liked the Superman movie? You made me watch that because you were—you _hussy_.” He looks delighted. “You _made me watch_ —the Martha thing? That stupid, cheap plot hole. And the whole time you just wanted to raw Batman.”

“It wasn’t a plot hole,” Eddie says loudly, because they’ve had this discussion before. “It was an emotional moment, it works, okay?”

“It really doesn’t.”

“Well, too bad.” Eddie crosses his arms over his chest. “I liked it.”

Richie’s not even listening, too busy pacing back and forth across the living room carpet like a maniac. “You.” He stops, pointing his finger straight at Eddie’s chest. “You're the reason why all movies in theatres are cash grab remakes and franchises.”

“Me.” Eddie’s voice is flat. “I’m the reason. Me, specifically. All of Hollywood listens to me only—”

“You… people like you.”

Eddie blinks up at him. “You mean the gays?”

For a whole five seconds, neither of them says anything. Then the corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches, and Richie starts cracking up, eyes crinkling as he bursts out laughing, swaying in place to grasp at his belly. Eddie grins at him—he likes the sound of Richie’s laughter, deep and loud, the way he throws back his head and laughs with all himself, and he always feels a spark of warm pride every time he gets him to burst out laughing like this.

“ _The gays_ ,” Richie croaks, breathless, chest heaving. “ _The gays_ , really—” He breathes more heavily as he settles down, brushing off a tear from the corner of his eyes. He points an accusing finger at Eddie’s chest. “I hate it when you’re funnier than me.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says gravely. “Can we watch the movie now?”

Richie groans dramatically, throwing himself bodily on the couch like it’s a fainting chair. They’re going to watch _The Hangover_ , and Richie had a small part in one of the sequels so he’s the last person that should be judging anything, but he still insists it’s not the same thing at all.

“I did it for the paycheck, you’re watching it _willingly_ , it’s not the same thing–”

“Isn’t it?”

“No!”

And on and on like that, smiling bright and insufferable, until the only way to shut Richie up is to get his mouth stuffed with Eddie’s dick. It’s not like Richie _minds_ , and Eddie sure as fuck doesn’t either, so it works perfectly well. Richie likes to get him off messily, loudly, timed in the worst possible way to distract Eddie just when he’s trying to pay attention. He always brags about it, after, looking smugly up at him with his glasses askew while Eddie blinks to himself and realises he paid no attention whatsoever to the plot for last ten minutes. He tilts up Richie’s chin and watches him lick his lips, drags him by the hair to kiss messily into his mouth, and then settle back down to watch the end of the movie.

Predictably, Richie goes right back to running his mouth. “You get an action movie _and_ a blowjob,” he teases. “This is like, the highest possible standard of living if you’re a college fratboy— _hey_!” Eddie elbows him lightly and turns his head so he can kiss him again.

So maybe yeah, it’s a _thing_.

It’s fun, for the most part. When Richie picks the movies Eddie likes to tease him through it, drawing it out, and by the end of it they’re both keyed up and buzzing with frustrated arousal. Eddie gets off on it—he likes the wait, keeping his body on the edge, looking up to see Richie’s face heated and flushed. He’s developed a lot of strange turn-ons since this started, when he hears mumbled German or moody background music or the sound of loud movie explosions, and it’s all well and fine until they have to watch a movie with other people in the room.

When Bill invites them to his latest premiere, it takes Eddie half a second to agree. He read the book it was based on and liked it—Bill’s fifth published novel, _The Swirling Dark_ , and Richie can say whatever he wants about the ending and the prose and that slightly odd murder-suicide halfway through, but Eddie has owned all of Bill’s books since before he remembered Bill’s existence, and it’s not like he’s going to pass on the chance to see it. Ben is going to be there too, visiting for the week, and Eddie’s not going to miss the chance to catch up. Also, he likes the way Richie dresses when they’re going somewhere nice, and a movie premiere, with photographers and producers and Audra Phillips on the red carpet, definitely qualifies.

It’s only when they’re in the theatre, lights out and sound surround enveloping the awed crowds, that Eddie remembers one specific, very important thing: he doesn’t actually _like_ Bill’s movies.

It’s a complicated relationship. He likes the books plenty—he loves the books, really, even with the weird sex overdone prose and creepy metaphors on every third page. He used to buy them in paperbacks with tacky covers every time he had a flight, and it felt like meeting an old friend. Now that he can recognise the face on the author’s photo he’s immensely proud of Bill, he’s happy they’re so popular, he listens excitedly every time Bill talks about a script he’s working on.

The movies are just—they’re fine, Eddie guesses. No matter what, he just can’t get into them. Maybe it’s the weird camera angles or the casting choices, or maybe it’s that Bill’s characters lose something without a backing narration. The soundtrack is always kind of annoying, the plot more complex than it needs to be for an adaptation. Watching _The Swirling Dark_ on the big screen, Eddie can’t help but think—this looks like the kind of movie Richie would like.

And that, unfortunately, is like an electric spark going straight to his dick.

He shifts on the comfortable armchair in his tailored slacks, squirming against the seat. “Rich,” he whispers, resting his chin on Richie’s shoulder. “Hey. I’ve got a question.”

“What’s going on?”

The screen is dark—some night shot, gloomy and dark and very atmospheric—and Eddie can barely see Richie’s face. When he breathes, the tip of his nose brushes against the stubble at Richie’s jaw.

“If we were watching this at home, who’d pick this? Me or you?”

The sudden house fire on the screen gives Eddie a great view of Richie’s face as he blinks in surprise, the way his mouth creases at the corners when he smiles.

“This movie, really. _Bill’s movie_?” His voice goes up, and Eddie pinches his thigh. “Sorry.” Richie goes back to whispering. “I mean, I obviously wouldn’t pick this.”

“You would.”

“No, I _wouldn’t_ ,” Richie hisses. “No. You’re the one who likes them.”

“Yeah, the book. This is—” Eddie leans in closer, whispers directly into Richie’s ear. “Kind of pretentious.”

“That’s not what I—that doesn’t _mean_ anything.”

Eddie’s not so sure. His brain can kind of see Richie’s logic, but his dick sure as hell doesn’t—he’s watching a moody movie with a sepia palette and Richie’s right _here_ , and that’s doing things to him that definitely shouldn’t be done to anyone in the middle of a crowded theatre.

He considers his options. “Wanna met me in the bathroom?”

Richie sputters. _“_ What the—really?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Eddie whispers.

“Yeah, okay—yeah.”

Richie goes first.

Eddie counts the seconds in his head, breathing in and out slowly, refraining himself from palming his dick through his pants because that would be public obscenity. He counts to two hundred then springs from his seat, walking briskly out of the room and looking for the toilets where—

He sees Richie, standing at a corner by the restroom, talking to a tall, well-dressed man who—

“Hey, Ben.”

“Hey, Eddie!” Richie calls, cheerfully. “You didn’t have to go look for me, you know. We’re missing the movie.” He smiles, bright and very convincing.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Ben, here—” He nods his head, looking just a bit pained. “Saw me rushing into the toilet and asked if I was feeling well, and I said not very much, and he offered to get me some water, so here we are.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Yeah. I was getting worried.” And then, lamely. “Thanks, Ben.”

“Sure,” Ben smiles down at him just as brightly as Richie did, infinitely more sincere. “I told Richie I don’t mind, I don’t really understand Bill’s movies.” He says that in a whisper. “They’re a bit much for me, you know? But I know you like them.”

“Yeah,” Eddie repeats. “Yeah, a lot. Thank you for—”

“No worries. I can stay here with Richie, if you want to go back in.”

“It’s fine if you—”

“No, really,” Ben says. He looks very handsome and very generous, and there’s really nothing Eddie can do.

“Eddie, it’s fine,” Richie says through gritted teeth. “Go back in, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Great,” Eddie says. “Well, thank you for helping, Ben. I’ll see you later.”

He walks back to his seat with much less enthusiasm, still kind of squirming, hating the universe and Ben’s kindness and Richie’s idiotic taste in movies. The runtime is two hours and ten minutes, and by the end of it he’s ready to grab Richie and go home. Except that there are things to deal with, Ben checking in to see how Richie is doing, Bill asking excitedly if they enjoyed the movie.

“Yes, absolutely,” Eddie says, just as Richie says, “Yeah, I missed like thirty minutes of it, but great. I liked it when the girl got murdered—”

“Wait, what do you mean you missed it—”

“I was blowing Ben in the bathroom,” Richie explains, so perfectly serious that Bill’s eyebrows furl in a way that’s fascinating to look at. “It was brief but intense, and I’ll treasure it forever—”

“He got sick,” Eddie cuts in. “He got very sick and he had to go to the toilet and Ben helped, but now we really, really have to go home right now.”

And then he all but drags Richie out of the way, fingers clasped tight on his shoulder, and as soon as they’re out of sight Richie starts laughing so hard it turns into a cough.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you—”

“You ruined me for movies in polite company,” Eddie says, gravely. “This is all your fault. Now I think we should go home and—”

“You mean I can’t get you to blow me in the car?” Richie asks, loud enough that Eddie’s face goes red before he realises no one overheard them.

“ _Home_ ,” he hisses. Then he thinks about it. “Maybe next time.” 


End file.
